Traug
by kidko
Summary: CH 6 NOW UP! When a group of seafarring mice and villainous vermin stumble upon a long forgotten island, things that should have never seen the light of day are revealed...
1. Clouded Horizons

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the world of Redwall. The island of Traug, Traug the ferret, Upago, and other characters not found in the novels are my own creation. The Redwall world is the intellectual property of Brian Jacques, writer of books in the Redwall series. Characters/places including (but not limited to), the Long Patrol, Badger Lord(s), Salamandastron, Marshank, Redwall, and Martin the Warrior are said author's property.

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**Chapter One: Clouded Horizons**

The moon rose over the horizon, shedding a dim light onto the island of Traug. Long abandoned and undiscovered in the western seas. Many had visited its sister, to the far east, but only one had stumbled upon this desolate rock. That ferret had never come back to his island again, by fate or fault. The seas pounded upon the sheer cliffs that were the island's shores. Sand was whipped into the foaming depths, victims of the never ending winds.

The sparse trees swayed in the wind, welcoming the moon. But something was troubling the island. The rocks could feel it. So could the bushes and the dried grasses. Something was coming; and that something, could not be good.

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Upago gazed out at the waves, hoping to catch a glimpse of land. He and his crew of seafaring mice had been on the _Whiplash_ for too long. Repairs needed to be made, and supplies were running low. Morale had suffered after they had sighted Marshank The fortress of slavery was still under construction, but they all knew it was just as well protected now as it would be when it was finished. 

And who better to finish the warlord's palace than enslaved creatures of all kinds. Most regrettably, Martin, who was taken from the _Whiplash_'s own tribe. He had been a kind but strong mouse, especially for one abandoned by his father so early in life. The poor thing would have been a great leader, had he been left at the caves. But who knew if the mouse was still living? Upago shook such thoughts from his mind. Of course young Martin was alive! He hadn't been the kind to give up. No, thought the mouse, wiping spray from his eyes, he would not be surprised if Martin was going to lead a rebellion.

Upago sighed. Now if only he could get the other members of his crew to think like that. Spirits had been low these last few weeks, and the recent storms did little to lift them. Leag, Bruqu, Dale, and even Trevor considered the _Whiplash_ lost. But they were a hardy bunch of mice; loyal to the death, all of them. Though it seemed they would be free from earthly bonds soon, the mice worked as hard as ever. Maybe hope drove them. Or the certainty of death. It didn't matter. They would make it out alive; this Upago promised himself.

Leag wrapped himself in a blanket, covering as much of his black fur as possible against the cold. On his way out of the warm cabin, the mouse took an extra for Upago. "You could probably use something to warm you up. Don't want you dying on the job, eh?" he joked.

The gray-furred mouse turned around. "Of course not. Then who'd cook your next meal?"

They laughed at this, and Leag tossed the old creature a blanket. "Here. This should help against the spray at least. Seen any land yet?" he asked hopefully.

"Not yet, friend. The clouds don't help, either," Upago answered. "But I've had my eye on one cloud in particular. See it over by the horizon?"

Leag nodded. "Awful close to the ground for a cloud though, eh?"

He sighed. "Exactly my thoughts. It has been getting bigger, but moving from side to side. I want to call it land, but everything tells me it isn't!"

"Well, I'll go adjust the tiller," the black mouse said, turning to leave "Don't know which way land is, so what harm can it do?"


	2. Traug

**Chapter Two: Traug**

Traug looked out of his broken window. "Look alive, scum! You wanna live, then keep working!" he shouted at his crew. They, too had been at sea far too long. The _Marauder's Solitude_'s nearly empty hold was beginning to fill with seawater, but none of the addle-brained oafs he had search below deck found a leak.

He thought of himself as a pirate, though the crew considered themselves raiders. What the difference was, he didn't care. Dressed in a loose, faded blue tunic. Balanced on his ears was a red hat that had a bite taken out of it. Traug was not the image that the word 'pirate' usually conjured, but it was good enough for the ferret. Several earrings of gold clattered together as he swiveled his head. A snake's skin belt, from which dangled his trademark sword, was lazily put in the general area of his waist. An assortment of daggers hung on a matching belt, thrown across his narrow chest. The captain glared about the deck, adjusting his hat to keep the sun out of his eyes.

One bold weasel answered his ferret captain's call. "What, while you sit around and watch?" He dropped the rope he had been holding, and watched a bucket of fresh water spill over the deck. "All we do is work, and all you do is nothin'! And you want me to keep doin' this?" The weasel spat in the puddle, and kicked the bucket at the ship's wheel. It bounced off and fell with a splash into the sea.

Muttering under his breath, Traug opened his door meekly. He walked slowly to meet the rebel, shoulders slumped, casting nervous glances at the crew. They had stopped to watch, and see what their captain would do. The weasel sneered a the pitiful image the ferret captain took on. "Oh, so this is our captain now? Pulled out for a fight, and look at 'im! Not so– "

The rebel's sentence was cut off as Traug slammed him into the mast with one arm. With the other, he pulled out his sword, a jagged gutting weapon on one side, saber on the other. The weasel gulped. "Whatcher name?" barked Traug.

"Ragul, s-sir..." he answered nervously, eying the weapon mere inches from his exposed throat.

"Well, Ragul, what was that you said? Somethin' about me watchin' you work?"

Ragul improvised. "Well, I w-was just thinking... you never do–"

The weasel never finished his sentence. Traug slit his throat without a second thought, and tossed the body overboard. Menacingly, he turned back to face his crew. "Anybody care to join ol' Ragul? Looks like 'e could use some company..."

Nobody moved, hoping that their captain's gaze would pass them by. "Nobody? Then GET BACK TO WORK!" he shouted. "You want to make it to that island o'er there or not?" The crew gave him a group look of surprise. One particular rat spoke up.

"Island? What island?"

"That one, peabrain!" said Traug, pointing with his dripping sword. As he said, a dark smudge against the pre-dawn sky loomed in front of them. "I say half day's sailing with all canvas, and that hunk of rock is ours."

Fueled by this new idea, they eagerly went about their duties. The _Marauder's Solitude _was sailing towards land once again.


	3. The Island

**Chapter Three: The Island**

"Well, what be this?" Traug asked himself. "My old island! Never thought I'd find it again."

The steers ferret shouted at his captain. "Where do we land, cap'n?"

"Anywhere!" he shouted back. "The entire island is steep as Hell's walls! This is a good a spot as any, ferret!"

_Turn around... Go away..._

"Wuzzat, mate?" Traug asked, to nobody in particular. Several crew members cast him wary glances. "Mus' be hearing things... been a while since any of us saw land, anyhow."

_No... this is no longer... Traug's island..._

The ferret captain was puzzled. Nobody else seemed to be hearing the voice. Though it sounded familiar, he just couldn't place it. "Oh well," he said to himself. "Just git climbing..."

It was a long and grueling climb to the top of the sheer cliffs. Having anchored the _Marauder's Solitude_, her crew tied ropes to sturdy-looking rocks and began the treacherous climb up. Several fell into the water behind, but luckily their rope was often saved by a quick-fingered climber near them. It was nearly midday when they assembled at the top. Five of the already-small crew had been left behind to guard the boat, and four had fallen. A score and some crewbeasts were left with Traug at midday.

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"Fan out, crew!" he ordered. "Search this here spit o' rock. Anybody who don't come back better be a fast runner, too!"

The small crowd broke up, and they spread out, checking around for any sign of, well, anything. But not one rat, ferret, or weasel found any other creature, or sign of habitation. Several lizards scurried by, but they were soon skewered on a dagger blade for fun.

Meanwhile, Traug sat and waited. The scraggly, dried-up trees provided little shade, and the captain's discomfort grew. The sun rose high into the blue sky, and the heat became unbearable. Scratching an arrow into the dirt, the captain went to go find a source of water.

Along the way, Traug met several crew members headed back to the cliffs. Each and ever one turned back around the moment they saw him. The captain paid them no mind; fear was his weapon, and he was quite used to this sort of thing. Hacking through the fallen trees, the ferret soon found what he'd been looking for.

A pool of water, flowing from the small hills further on. Crystal clear and cold, it dripped from the pool into a cave below. Handholds had been carved into the rock, by the captain on his first time down there. Taking off his sword belt, daggers, and hat, Traug jumped into the half-lit crevice.

The freezing liquid made him gasp as he hit. But soon he was enjoying himself, once his body had adapted to the water temperature. The ferret took a large drink, glad to be back in the presence of unsalted and unrationed water. Floating on his back, the captain looked up the hole. Something was peering down at him.

"Who're you?" he asked lazily. A slingstone missed his head by a fly's wingspan.


	4. Redemption

Chapter Four: Redemption

_Three season earlier..._

The sun, red and fading quickly, shined upon the small island. The grasses swayed in the tropical winds, and a small cricket chirped in a berry bush. With a clunk, a coconut fell onto the ground from the tree that bore it. A brown-furred mouse picked it up.

Creatures that saw the mouse would claim it was more red than brown, but at a twitch, a it would shimmer and they would say differently. His eyes were lazily half-open, but completely aware of everything around. Slender but not skinny, muscular but not bulky, Redemption was a difficult creature to describe.

Stuffing the brown lump under his arm, he strode back the way he had come, away from the sandy cliffs. Brushing aside various fauna that blocked the well-worn dirt path, Redemption walked into a small clearing. Brushing some leaves off of a stump, the mouse sat down in the center of a camp.

A few feet to the north lie a lean-to, that looked both sturdy and old. A small, shallow creek divided the camp with its bed of rock, until it flowed down a small hole. To the south, on the far side of the water, were sack cloths, filled with grains and powders. A small pile of rocks lied next to them, each sparkling with hidden treasure.

Taking one of the numerous hollow coconut shells, the mouse filled it with the cool water and hung it over the fire crackling next to him. As it began to boil, and the outer shell flake away, he added some rice and carrots. Redemption threw in some wild roots, and a delicious aroma began to originate from the coconut-shell pot. He took it off the fire, and using a wooden spoon he'd carved, the mouse began to eat his soup.

After he was done, he threw the shell into the fire to burn away, and washed to spoon. Returning to his lean-to, the mouse lay down, and closed his eyes. A gasp escaped his mouth, and the mouse lie limp and still. His chest ceased moving. A thing vapor emerged from his chest, and a faint, misty echo of a mouse floated above the body.

Redemption floated to one of the beach cliffs, and gazed out to sea. A ship approached, and it bore markings on the side that he could not read. "Words," somebody had once told him. But they did not matter to the mouse. As long as they were peaceful and his body was not disturbed while it was getting its rest, everything was fine...

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Traug tossed aside the already-dead body of the mouse, and looked at his crew looting the small camp they had discovered. _It's my island now... _he thought to himself. _This is Traug's Island!_


	5. Mist of a Mouse

(( I know that the chapters are short. Sorry about that, but I get my point across a lot faster than I intended at first. Hope that explains it. But also, I have ideas for Redemption... I don't just kill characters off! ))

Chapter Five: Mist of A Mouse

The pale apparition gazed down at his ruined camp. His misty eyes roved around, searching desperately for his body. But the mouse's spirit did not find it. If one of those damn pirates hadn't walked right through him and scattered his essence, Redemption would have known exactly where to look for his body: sixty feet under water, at the base of the cliffs.

But as his fog-like body continued to find itself and reform from the mess it was earlier, the mouse sighed. Didn't look like he would be able to do much again. Not until another near-dead creature was washed against the cliff. _Who knows how long that will be?_ the mouse thought. _It could _never_ happen._

_---- _

_Present Day_

Dale looked around nervously. Ever since the _Whiplash_ had anchored at the cliffs, he had a bad feeling about going up. None of the other crewmembers listened to him, though Upago suggested he get some sleep. Sleep, at a time like this? He had scoffed at the older mouse's idea. Dale was not the kind of mouse to fall asleep on guard duty.

The field mouse walked over to check on the coals inside of the galley. They didn't look very red, and Upago needed them nice and hot to cook dinner. Dale tossed a piece of broken mast onto them, and small flames began to lick the sides of the wood. He shut the door and walked to inspect their broken mast. But as he did so, a grayish mist emerged from the galley window.

Dale blinked in surprise. A fire? _A FIRE!_ He ran towards the galley, and looked inside. There wasn't any fire burning... just the stove, slowly devouring the mast. But he didn't have any more time to think about that. The mist had just leaped at his chest. Dale dodged to the side, and fanned it away. The mist reformed, and this time, it didn't miss. The mouse slipped onto the deck, unconcous.

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Redemption opened his eyes, and looked at his new body. _It's not the best, _the mouse thought, _but it'll do._


	6. First Blood

(( Meh... well, sorry I couldn't update earlier. I've got school and stuff going on. But here's the next chapter, and now that everything's calmed down a bit, expect them more often! ))

Chapter Six: First Blood

Traug let himself sink under the cool water. Another stone entered the pool, and through the murky blue, the pirate saw it stop a hair's breadth from his nose. With a kick stronger than he thought possible, the ferret splashed out of the water, and caught Trevor off guard. The mouse flew back, having received an unwavering strike to the gut. Winded, he lay there for a moment.

Traug saw his opportunity. He gathered up his kit, and ran into the forest, still wet and buckling on his belts. The ferret looked back, only to find the mouse was nowhere to be seen. _What in hell's name?_ he thought, but stopped. There, glinting on the grass blades, was a small trail of blood. With a smirk, the pirate set off after Trevor, unaware of where he was going.

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"I'm tellin' you's," Brandle, a weasel, coughed, "he's prob'ly out there now, filling his gullet while we's here cold and hungry!"

"And I say 'e ain't," the steers-rat, Stumptail, spat back. "Any o' you ever see 'im do anythin' like that?" None of the other returned scouts responded. "Didn't think so. If you wanna get kill't, do whatever Brandle says. Stay alive and fine, Traug."

Nobody stirred. An uneasy silence took hold of the camp. But it was shattered as a mouse, with blood running down from his head to his footpaws, stumbled into the clearing, panting. He stood up straight, looked around, and fainted.

"Oi!" shouted a crewbeast, "He dead?"

Another went over and kicked the mouse. Trevor swung reflexively, but did not get up. "No, he ain't dead 'tall!" Stumptail said. "Looks like he fainted from losin' blood, though."

"Get 'im back to the ship!" somebody suggested. "Maybe there's more of 'em!" The crew of the Marauder's_ Solitude_ leapt to the task, and Trevor was soon safe, if in the hands of pirates would be called 'safe.'

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Upago glanced around as he filled one of the _Whiplash_'s water barrels. Something wasn't right about the island. He mentally berated himself for not listening to Dale. Wasn't this exactly what the younger mouse had been saying? But no, Upago had simply blamed it on sleep deprivation. _Well, sorry_, he thought to himself. Trevor would be back soon to report what was going on around them, and hopefully with as much fresh fruit as he could carry. The older mouse had seen scurvy once, and didn't want it to take any of his crew. _Where are you Trevor?_


End file.
